


Woebegone

by sushi_san



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Blood and Violence, Canon timeline does not apply, Child Neglect, Childhood Memories, Gore, Graphic Description of Corpses, Non-Canonical Character Death, Not Canon Compliant, Sibling Rivalry, Young Genji Shimada, Young Hanzo Shimada
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-03
Updated: 2016-10-03
Packaged: 2018-08-19 10:15:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8201617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sushi_san/pseuds/sushi_san
Summary: Reaper's got a motto.An off-canon retelling of our heroes.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [macabrecabra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/macabrecabra/gifts).



> A stand-alone one shot taken from Like Statues We Stand.

The feeling of his face pressed to the filthy ground isn't anything new to the youngest Shimada. He'd had more than his fair share of playground fistfights and schoolyard brawls. He was a problem child, the mark on his family's spotless reputation. He'd brought home perfect grades but bruised fists, the perfect son but with smitten girls swooning at his heels, always with a smile on his cheeks. 

_He deserves his brother's every punch._

He remembers when he slipped up: after his mother. He threw himself into his training like it was a joke--cocky, even in defeat-- while Hanzo climbed the ranks as their father's right hand. He was left to mourn, burying himself in distractions, women, alcohol--anything to keep his mind off the raging sorrow. The family business, as dishonorable as it was, descended to a matter that was the least of  the ninja's priorities which didn't sit well with his elders. And he didn't care. 

Then his father died. 

The fight had been almost comical. Genji didn't stand a damn chance. 

In any other circumstance he would've been awed at the mesmerizing way his brother bent his weapons to his will; from his perfect balance, to even more precise aim, Hanzo excels at everything except pain. No, that's Genji's expertise. 

_"You would kill your own blood to protect crime and dishonor? And here I thought I knew you." His blade dances in his palms as he spins it with a laid back  ease. He watches his brother track him, arrow drawn back to his ear, coffee eyes piercing, calculating. He balances on the balcony railing, one foot in front of the other. Mockery is a skill he'd mastered. He'd learned early on that a silver tongue could get you anywhere. And trees below the sheer cliff wave._

_"Dishonor?" Hanzo doesn't smirk, an impassive, emotionless wall that reminds him too much of his father._

_Oh, he was never his father's son. He knows that._

_"That has always been you, Genji."_

_He feels the wind break through his hair, the moon washing his skin; what a beautiful night it is. "Why? Because I do not wish to enslave myself to Father's criminal affairs? Even you must see the damage this brings upon our family." A smirk plays on his lips, getting a rise out of his brother never proves too difficult._

_Hanzo's nostrils flare in the moonlight, only just, but Genji's keen eyes pick it up like a neon sign. He grins wider just for the hell of it. "It's our legacy," his brother growls lowly, like a tensing lion._

_"It's our choice." He steps off the rail, feet silent on the wooden deck. Hanzo's arrow follow his every move. "This family was left to us. So let us end this."_

_"And spit on our father's dying wish?" It's Hanzo's turn to lift his lips a fraction. But it only lasts a heartbeat._

_"What about our mother's?"_

_It's  a nerve that Genji shouldn't have touched. Hanzo takes two steps forwards and the tip of the arrow is pressing into the pulse in his jaw. "You barely knew her. What would you know?"_

_"I knew her well enough to love her, Hanzo. More love than Father ever showed me.  He doted on_ you."  _Pain is Genji's expertise._

Strike one.

 _His brother doesn't answer, lowering his bow to give him an unreadable look. "I have to kill you if you don't cooperate."_ _Genji laughs, a real hearty one from deep in his stomach. Hanzo steps back, as his features warring between bewilderment and fury. "You dare defy the will of our elders?"_

_Genji shakes his head and the adrenaline begins to course through his veins. "I just didn't know you would be willing to get your hands dirty."_

Strike two.

 _"Father always had you. I just didn't know you_ liked _being his bitch."_

Out. 

There's fire in his blood, he's sure of it. It simply hurts to exist. He just wishes he'd been able to see his brother's face when he screamed. 

_Dodging the first attack is easy; Hanzo is enraged and impulsive--but not for long. Hanzo is smart, tactical. He'll realize his self-destruction before Genji can get the upper hand. He has to run._

_His blade slices evenly through the arrow and in another time he would've been elated. But Hanzo is shooting to kill._

_The second arrow hits home, slicing a thick gash right underneath Genji's left ear. He barely feels it. He deflects the third, fourth... he loses count. Hanzo advances with cold fury, arms and fingers like clockwork. There is a lapse in between each shot, half a breath. Genji dives low under his brother's waist, hardly hearing the grunt of surprise when he shoves them both back to the ground. His head is still rolling, blade still steadying when the fist slams into his temple._

_Genji had always been smaller: nimbler, narrower, quicker. But Hanzo is the brawn: stockier, broader, and simply overpowering. Not enough space to rear his sword, not enough time to pinpoint which of the three Hanzo's in his vision is the real one. The brother helps him out by driving a knee into the tender spot below his ribs. Genji can't even gasp before the knee is pulled back and then rammed forwards again. And again._

_Hanzo flips them both. "I will make it quick," he hisses. Coffee eyes and coffee skin._

_It isn't like all those times they'd sparred. Then, they'd bet on the winner, joking and teasing until one of them got the upper hand. Even in their elders' presence, the rigor of training would turn into an intense jest until sometimes, on a good day, not even their father could hold down the minute quirk in his thin lips._

_His katana coasts through the skin on Hanzo's shoulder. The memory turns bitter._

_Hanzo hisses and pulls back, scarlet already weeping into his shirt._

The blunted sword had broken skin. Immediately, his mother, watching from the side, stood up, infuriated. She spoke in brash, accusing tones towards their teacher, a masterful swordsman hired outside of Hanamura. While she released torrents of thick Japanese, Hanzo let his own sword falls from his hands, running towards his younger brother. Genji remembers how he'd cried. It  _hurt._ All the times they'd mock battles between ninja and samurai, he'd never thought such a wound would burn so bad. 

So young, when he'd first tasted blood. 

Genji remembers the color seeping through the sash Hanzo had tied in his hair that day, wrapped snug around his arm while the tears were wiped from his face. He was embarrassed. For crying. For bleeding.

"Even warriors cry, Genji," he'd said with a smile.

It was a child's lie. But he believed it.

_Storm Bow knocks aside his attacks and Genji's advantage is lost._

_There is no sign of the boys they once were. They'd cast away the blunted steel for weapons drenched in blood._

_Maybe he's being difficult, maybe leading the clan under Hanzo wouldn't be so terrible. The look in his face however crushes any hope of cooperation._

_Hanzo comes at him again, quick when his katana is drawn back. Two arrows cut through the tendons in his dominant arm and the steel clatters on the floor. He tries to swallow down the sudden rush of searing pain before the elbow sends him spinning._  

_All he can feel is his brother's hands on his jaw, holding him down with his face pressed hard into the splintering wood. And that's all he can feel besides the untamed creature awakening in the heat of his chest. He's never called it, more afraid of its deadly hunger than anything else. He'd shied away from the tattoo, the birthright across his chest and shoulder, while his brother boasted it. This time, the dragon is not asking to be summoned. She demands it._

_The hands come down on his neck hard, collapsing on his windpipe. But it's all too easy to snatch an arrow from the quiver and grasp the shaft like a spear. Hanzo catches his hand easily before it even gets close. He presses on his wrists until the younger Shimada whimpers what should've been a yelp._

_Feigning defeat is all too easy._

_Genji's other hand comes up behind his brother's head where he tears hard on a fist full of hair. Hanzo cries out, flinching as Genji yanks his head down, throwing the older Shimada to the side. Then he's got his katana in one hand and an arrow in the other. Later, he'll vomit at how easy it was to make the decision to plunge the razor end into Hanzo's side, and his blade into his shoulder._

_His brother screeches while fumbling for his bow. Genji stumbles to his feet, shaking the shadows from the edge of his vision. His movements feel calculated, his thoughts mechanical. He's watching his body perform from some outside place; but even lost within himself, he can't bring himself to maim the man at his feet. Hanzo breathes hard through gritted teeth, shuddering, and breaks the shaft of the projectile protruding from his gut. His fingers are shaking when he reaches for his bow. "Fight. Back."_

_He sounds almost as if he's_ begging. 

_Genji fights the beast, dragging her back when she snarls for freedom. He sees what she wants: Hanzo's body, skin flayed with the smell burnt meat in the air. His corpse an unidentifiable carcass, so destroyed and maimed that not even his own dragons could save him._

"'It is a dog eat dog world out there.'" Hanzo had stared at the tablet in confusion. "I don't understand."

Their mother stroked his hair as Genji rested his head in her lap, strangely subdued and content in the falling cherry blossoms. "It is a saying." Her voice was strong, not serene like one might think. She was defiant by nature, headstrong and independent. For her, the world was a canvas. "It means that one must look out for their self, first and always. No mercy, or pity."

"Oh," was all Hanzo said, gazing at the screen with a focused stare. Genji kicked out a sleepy leg to press against Hanzo's, seeking simple contact. Natsu purred, and not for the first time, he felt her psychic presence drift down his skin. Through his heavy eyes he saw her ethereal body, curl past his toes. Hanzo smiled, one of the rare ones, even at such a tender age. His own spirits, cobalt blue, trailed over his shoulders. Aozora rested across the boy's shoulders while Soba slithered down to meet Natsu's green snout.

Their mother held out a slender finger to Aozora's chin, stroking the dragon tenderly. "In a sense it is the truth." The hand that carded through Genji's hair sent shivers down his spine and Natsu echoes the flicker of his eyelids. "But as long as you boys stick together," blossom petals got caught in the waves of her hair, "you will survive."

_"Tell them you killed me. Tell them there was nothing to bring back." The words slide out of the hollow space in Genji's chest. Without all that pain, he's a shell. Empty. Echoes of who he used to be. If who he used to be even existed. He sees the wisp of green in the reflection of his katana and swallows the building pressure. He will lose to his brother, but he refuses to lose to the beast._

_Hanzo laughs dryly, "You think they will be stupid enough to believe such a lie?"_

_He pauses. His blade is glittering with crimson. His leg burns. Two arrows pierce his thigh and calf; he never felt them. "I was stupid enough to believe that blood meant more to you than something to be shed."_

_Hanzo's eyes ignite and he's the spitting image of his mother, and the pain is back: the ache that never left him, the void of loss that ate until there was nothing left inside of him. "You think this is easy for me?!" He coughs, violent and wet, and pushes himself to his knees. For once in his life, Genji towers above his brother. Hanzo's voice does not tremble."I fought for you! I begged them not to, begged_ you _to change."_

_There's that buzzing in his head; anger. So much anger. "Never good enough." Hanzo pushes himself to his feet, strong again, steady again. His hand clenches around the katana. "Never enough, was I?" Tears, dripping now, from his cheeks. He's going to die by his brother's hand. Have his heart ripped out, one last time._

"Not

Good

Enough!"

_He rushes at the archer with three swift strikes. He's easily anticipated and Hanzo's bow comes up to deflect each one. He tries for a well aimed kick at his brother's bleeding leg. A hand comes down faster than lightning, cutting into his thigh with fierce power. Natsu snarls, her essence shearing off in wisps and streaks, barely held back. He can feel Soba snapping, lashing out with just as much anger. For a moment, he can make out the shape of Aozora, wrapped around Hanzo's wrist._

_With every advance comes a parry, with every retreat comes retaliation. Hanzo knows how he breaths. It's just a matter of who can last the longest at this point._

_Genji lets a shuriken drop discreetly into his hand as they pull away breathing hard. His elder looks just as exhausted, wounded arm trembling to keep his arrows pointed at Genji's heart. "No," Hanzo gasps. Sweat rolls down his face, the world washed in moonlight. "I wasn't. Not for you."_

_The evening isn't as beautiful as it was._

_Genji moves first, letting the star fly towards his brother's face which he barely dodges, making no noise at the sharp edge carves deep into the bridge of his nose._

_He slices through the first. The second arrow hits home. Then the third. And the fourth._

_He can't move his arms and the fall to the ground takes an unrealistic amount of time. It must be years before he realizes his back is on a wall. Too much blood and his head is swimming. Hanzo isn't dumb; somewhere an artery's been slashed open._

"Sloppy," _says his father. "You should have seen that coming." Hanzo's baby face behind him, stoic as ever._

_Hanzo's face in front of him, horrified. Genji manages to smile, his blade finally slipping from his palm. "You better kill me now, niichan."_

_Hanzo tenses as he draws his bow one more time, leaning heavily on one leg, on the verge of what must be tears. "Stop, Genji." But warriors don't cry._

_He tilts his head which turns out to be more like a slouch sideways. "I almost had you."_

_"Stop."_

"Not good enough."

_If Genji had ever seen his brother cry, he'd assume he's letting out a hiccup of some sort. But if he's honest with himself, Hanzo's figure is too much of a blur to decipher anything now. "No... no more pain, otouto."_

_A smile. "Pain is my expertise." The resolve in his voice falters. "Don't--" Something thick and red slides out of his throat and when he coughs, it burns and splatters on the wood. "Nakanaide."_

_The first words of his dragon's call break off abruptly. Then Hanzo simply fades out of existence; replaced by the torturous agony of being undone._

He briefly remember's the sound of his screams deafening his own ears. The traumatized look in Hanzo's eyes before turning on his heel and sprinting away, limp forgotten. The sound of his footsteps leaving, leaving him in some indescribable place between life and death. How long and how much longer? Swimming in darkness, confined to a Hell of his own. He rambles nonsense in Japanese, or at least he thinks he does, until the sun begins to warm his face.

Has it been that long? Did Hanzo think him dead? Or did he leave him for the vultures?

Heat crawls along his mangled skin, torn and ripped beyond recognition, and there's a strange, sweet voice murmuring in his ear. Cool fingers frame his burning throat, leaving aching relief in their wake. He swallows a moan and a call for his mother. 

Sweet release is what she brings, touch grazing lightly around his body and before he knows it, tears are searing the exposed cuts on his cheeks. 

Sweet release. And the sound of firecrackers. 

Two shots ringing out in beautiful staccato. 

And the light fades, replaced with darkness yet again. But what comes across his skin is something entirely foreign and terrifying. 

Chills numb the pain, nothingness steals over the ache. He sighs. It's sinful, how good the emptiness feels after being ripped apart piece by piece, thought by thought. 

And he opens his eyes. 

He can hear the crickets, the croon of the breeze, the moon carving a path through the stars. He can hear Hanzo's frantic, uneven footsteps turning the corner. 

It's only been minutes. 

The thick breath he takes feels like his first.

There's a figure slumping in the corner of his vision and when Genji turns his head, it's a body. An angel. Dead. Only half a skull intact. 

A heavy boot digs into his side. It _tickles._

The mask that he can make out suddenly against the shadows of the dark should have his heart racing, his fists clenching. But for some reason, he just gazes back. Bone-white in the night and framed with a cloak the color of spilled ink. _"Get up, kid."_

The voice is chilling. Disembodied. Broken, like the pieces of brain matter from the angel's head. 

Genji can make out red eyes before the voice comes again, right over his shoulder. _"Unless you're just gonna let him walk away."_

_If he listens hard enough, he can still make out Hanzo's retreating stride. He tilts his head like a lion in a hunt._

_Somehow, his blade is flush in his palm, clenched in hands soaked in blood._

_"Show no mercy."_

_No more pain. No more hurt. Oh, he's never felt stronger. When he rolls his shoulders his neck cracks. His own dragon is thirsty for blood and so much more._

_The voice comes in his ear again. "I wonder if he'll look as pretty as her."_

_The angel. Nothing more than chum in the water. Nothing to bury, nothing to burn._

Hanzo, Genji decides, would look _stunning_ in a crown of blood. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The name "Soba" is a nod to Points on a Circle (https://archiveofourown.org/works/7872577) by @Hubris_And_Crafts because Hanzo would never name his dragons after noodles but Genji's suggestion stuck.

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to the wonderful @macabrecabra, my loose source of inspiration.
> 
> A stand-alone one shot taken from a longer series.


End file.
